The guilt

So, the guilt that I wrote about in the nap post is lingering. Here's how it goes. No matter what you do (I do, I'll speak for myself)...as a mother, I always feel that something could have been done better. Even, alas, in my blog posts I feel guilt. I always feel like I need to say, "Oh wait, but I do love my kids. I do love being a stay at home mom. I'm not crasy. I'm not a bad parent." Here's a blog to prove it!!
I love my kids! Let's face it, the "I'm going to lose my mind" blogs are fun to read. And they are true, and authentic, and written in the moment. And, they are therapeutic for me.
I would hope that of the handful of people who read this blog would know that I love my kids.
Okay. I love my kids. I love being a mom. I'm feeling better. Don't judge.

My nap

I RARELY nap at home during the day. The kids are actually good sleepers. They don't all three sleep at the same time every day, but sometimes they do. During that time, I will generally clean a little bit, and take some time for myself. It usually consists of a load of laundry, tidying up the house, watching tevoed Oprah, and playing on facebook. Just about the time when I start to relax, someone's crying.
I RARELY nap. Okay, I think I said that already. It's not that I'm not tired enough to, it's just that if I nap, one of the kids will wake me up from that nap, and I will be groggy, and feel unrested and that time was wasted. So. There will be a day every now and then, whether it be because of a long week, a long night, a combination of things, that I just feel like I need a nap. Here's the kicker. If my mind ever, ever thinks, "I'm going to take a nap today," I'm doomed. It's like my kids read my mind and decide to be bad.
Here's how my nap went today. We get home from running errands, I make a phone call to the church to cancel BJ's lectoring, Adri and Jupa start the war while I'm on the phone. Get off the phone. Angrily tell the kids to get upstairs and go to bed. Adrienne obediently goes and lays in bed and is asleep within five minutes. Julian goes to his room and screams. It was wonderful when Julian was still in a crib and couldn't get out. You could let a kid cry, you know. Then he started climbing out of his crib and I endured fits of insanity because he just wouldn't nap and we'd both pay for it later. Enter: New house is an old house with old door handles. Julian is, for the time being, stuck in his room until I open the door. I know eventually he will get the door open, his confidence restored and he will go back to being 100% ornery boy that he is. Okay, I'm digressing. My nap...where was I, oh yeah...So I change Isabelle's poopy diaper, wipe her snot, drool and lay her in her crib. This is all at 2:00, by the way. She fusses a bit but seems to be calm. I make a cup of tea for my sore throat and grab the book that my dear friend gave me to read. I put on comfy pants, snuggle under the covers in my bed and start reading. I read four pages, set the book down, take off my glasses, fluff the pillow and close my eyes. Julian is still talking but the crying has calmed.
Now, in the back of my mind, I know this nap isn't going to pan out because I actually thought about it in advance. But I gave it my best shot. 2:12. Oh my gosh, I think I'm actually falling asleep. Dreams begin to formulate, I'm starting to relax, 2:24, Isabelle is crying. I get up, try to put the paci in her mouth and she's not having it. On my way to her room, old house comes through for me and floors creak loud enough to wake the neighbors, who probably have no problem napping except for my exceptionally creaky floors, and Julian starts up again.
Now Isa and Julian feed off of each other's crying, they always have, so they are both screaming. Not fussing, but 'get me the hell out of this bed now,' kind of crying. In my desperation, I set up the pack and play in my room, put Isa in there and shut the door. I leave Julian in his room, but I can tell that he has gotten into his closet because there are thumps and thuds and loud scary noises coming from his room.
I leave my two screaming kids and crawl in bed with the angelic sleeping Adri, who doesn't budge, even though the sun is blasting through the windows on her face and her mom is in bed with her. I lay down. 2:30. I laid there and listened to them both scream for 10 minutes. During that ten minutes I become overcome with guilt that I am not taking care of my children, I'm being selfish, and other self-loathing thoughts. I'm also so upset, uptight, angry, frustrated, tired, guilty, whatever, that it's over.
I get Isabelle, I get Julian. We go downstairs. They are sitting and playing on the ground and I'm here blogging about my wonderful 12 minute nap.
Every mom should be so lucky.

The new house

I should start crapping my pants again. Everyone else is. I'm so tired. Last night wasn't great. I slept in Adrienne's bed with Adrienne and Julian, and Izzy was in the crib next to us. By the way, that's the last time I am typing her name. The last letter of the alphabet key on our keyboard is broken thanks to Julian so typing that letter is extremely difficult, seeing as how the actual key is not on it and you have to forcefully push down on this little button. From now on, she will affectionately be known as Isa. Or I guess I could use her real name. But who does that? And by the way, if I say I'm going crasy, or we're going to the soo, so sip up your coats, you know what I mean.
It is 10:00 a.m., not really a nap time for us in this family, but all of the kids are upstairs. We've been awake since 5:30 this morning. I was trying so hard to get them in nap mode so I could clean like a crasy woman since my house looks like a bomb hit it. But here I am blogging. I need to get some stress out, seriously, and I think 10 a.m. is a little early for a beer. (BJ says lay low on the alcohol references, but I know a few of you momma's would give that one an Amen, sister!)
Anyway, I think I am going to be a ghost writer for blogs. BJ was telling me about it. I told him I needed a ghost chef. Someone who could come into my house, cook meals for the family, and get absolutely no credit, but would be paid, of course. Oh well.
Today is the 8 year anniversary of BJ and my first date. (How do you say that? Mine and BJ's, BJ and I's first date?) How sweet is that, people.
I'm so tired. Why did I title this The new house? I need to get off of this computer if I am not saying anything worthwhile. I've probably already lost my 5 blog followers. Sorry guys.
More next time from crasyland. ...

Growing up

I've always said I'm never going to be able to have a last child. Just when the baby starts doing something that outgrows baby-ness, I start yearning. My husband really hopes I will 'out grow' this yearning. But I haven't yet.

Last night, I laid in my bed with Adrienne. After a hellacious and exhausting day, she was just a little angel lying there. We spent about twenty quality minutes together. We prayed the Hail Mary and Our Father, we held hands, clapped our hands together, talked and laughed and made cute jokes. All the while, as she was completely unaware, I adored her, reveled in her innocent beauty, and allowed tears to silently travel from my eyes down to the pillow. That's a mom thing, I guess. Looking at a child with such overwhelming affection and abounding love that it makes you cry. I think I also was crying because she is growing up so fast.

I can see Julian growing. Moreso now that I am home. He wakes up in the morning, bigger, more like a little boy and less like a baby boy. This saddens me terribly as I love babies so much. Julian is such a little doll face. I woke up this morning and Julian said, "Mommy, Iwanshum oatmeal." You wanshum what?! You didn't say oatmeal. Yes, he said oatmeal. If you have read the eatmeal post, you understand how heartbreaking it was for me to hear him say oatmeal. Oh, you're growing up. I'm still clinging to him calling it his 'big girl bed.'

Isabelle fell asleep on my chest tonight. We were watching Dancing with the Stars. This doesn't happen - the falling asleep on my chest thing. Not at all at her age, 6 months. Izzy was in bed at about 8p and just screaming. Poor kid (oh no, there she goes again as I type this), she's teething. I could actually feel her first tooth coming through on the bottom tonight. So, we've had a few rough nights. She was just fussy and wanted to be held. I was holding her on my lap, she kinked her head up at me with drowsy eyes and a half smile. She said 'I love you' with that look. I stroked her hair and kissed her. She had fallen asleep. I held her with me for a little while and just loved the moment. Loved the fleeting moment. Tried to burn the moment into my memory to take out again when she's 12 and I want to kick her out of the house for being so sassy.

Growing up. When I see that Adrienne has changed in the smallest of ways on any given day, I'll tell her, "Stop growing up!" to which she always replies, "I'm trying to!" Keep trying, baby, I want to freeze time.

I'd rather poke a needle in my eye.

As I was sitting in the patient room with my three crying children, in a moment of desperation and temporary (up for debate) insanity, I thought to myself, "In this very moment, If I had a choice, I would prefer to poke a needle into my eyeball than to be right here, right now." Now, if someone handed me a needle, I may have chickened out. But if they handed me a needle in exchange for my children, owey kazowey baby, that thing was going in!

I think I made the first mistake. I showed up to the doctor's office at 11:55. Julian's right foot had been bothering him so badly, so I thought we better get it checked out. I showed up to the pretentious, I think I'm better than you, you look like a slob and your kids are annoying, why don't you know basic protocol you're a grown woman, type of receptionist. What the hell ever happened to people being helpful in life? Whatever, another post altogether. Anyway, I inquired about a few things I should already know about clinic time, if my insurance would cover this visit, etc. Turns out, clinic opens at 1:00. Mind you 11:55, three kids. Ms. Sassypants said I needed to call the number on the back of my insurance card and ask if the doctor is in the network.

Here I am, one hour till clinic. I take the kids to the waiting room with the standard broken ass abacus kind of thing that no one really likes, and sat down. I had three pb & js in the bag, which Adrienne, Julian and I scarfed down in seconds. The kids sat and ate pretzels while I called the insurance Member Service. Okay, Dr. Makestoomuch is part of this plan, whatever. He's covered, we're covered, I don't know I should kill me for it. (That day I would have let you.)
Okay, here we are, one hour to go. Kids are now fed, but starting to get tired.

Just imagine the 5 worst scenarios that could have possibly happened at the doctor's office in the waiting room with a 3 1/2 year old, 2 year old, and 6 month old....did you imagine them? Okay, those 5 things happened and then a whole bunch of other crazy, awful, embarrassing shit.

At 1:00, we went to a room to give someone information, then to another waiting room, then to patient's room for more waiting, then nurse, then more waiting, then doctor. During the more waiting part is where I had the needle fantasy, by the way. When the doctor arrived, who was the nicest of all the people I had met, I thought, "If this person tells me to just keep an eye on it and he's going to be fine, he's getting a needle in his ass. Hard." As he walks in, I'm holding Julian and Isabelle in my arms. Adrienne is lying on the floor with her blankey and I am near tears. "Looks like you got your hands full, mom," Dr. Imsofunny says to me. Good thing he was nice. And helpful.

So, he looks at Julian's red, puffy, bruised, sore little foot. He pushes on it in a few places and gets some pretty good reactions from the little guy. We get x-rays, stickers, and it's a fractured bone. Okay, now, all good moms shield your eyes and plug your ears. I was SO HAPPY to hear that my son had fractured a bone in his foot! I mean, after two hours of hell on Earth, at least there was something to show for it!

Julian got a soft cast wrap and some more stickers and we were outta there! 2:09. 11:55-2:09. NEVER AGAIN! I know I left out all of the juicy specifics and fun laugh out loud stories about children behaving badly. I think we are all better people because of it.

Home. Naps. Beer. I'm feeling a little bit better...

It's all in a day, Part 1

I wake up to a number of different things on any given day. Sometimes it's my husband wanting to know where the clean socks are. Sometimes it's my son creeping out of his newly acquired "big girl bed" (don't ask). Sometimes it's my baby daughter fussing around in her crib because she's peed through her onesie and sleeper. Sometimes it's my eldest child, age 3 for the record, who crawls up to my bed and purrs. It's usually somewhere between 6:00 - 6:30 when someone chooses, or is awarded the position of ringleader for that day.

Breakfast. 22 month old Julian always wants oatmeal, which he affectionately calls it either o-mote, or eatmeal. I think he graduated from o-mote to eatmeal, actually. So, he's getting there. Julian gets his eatmeal. Adrienne gets her chocolate cereal (Cocoa Pebbles) with milk in it, she requests. Then, as she is eating her chocolate cereal, she asks, "Is this breakfast or dinner?" She asks this because she knows that after dinner, if you eat well, you get dessert. Of course you would eat well, Adri, it's chocolate for breakfast. No chance at dessert after this meal, sweetie. And as for baby Izzy, well, she gets her bottle.

Julian screams at the top of his lungs and Adrienne cries because it hurts her ears. I say, "IGNORE" to Adrienne, and Julian screams louder. They sit together at the table and throw Fruit Loops at each other (Julian gets Fruit Loops while his eatmeal is cooling.) By the end of breakfast, the kitchen floor is littered with smashed Fruit Loops, lumps of eatmeal and drippy sippys. Julian has red burns on his chin from the eatmeal, Adrienne has chocolate milk down the front of her shirt, and Izzy has puked on herself, or me. So we change. We all change.

Somewhere in there, I try to get my coffee. And when I do, and feel sick and jittery because I haven't eaten, I throw two frozen waffles in the toaster. And it's 7:30 a.m.

It's all in a day, Part 2

So, it's 7:30 a.m. and we all need to change. Give that a good 30 minutes. Adrienne wants to dress herself, of course. Now if anyone is reading this, if anyone is out there, and you have, have had, or know someone who has a three year old girl, getting dressed is a fiasco! If I know we won't be leaving the house for over two hours, go for it girl. Find every pink, floofy, fluffy, skirt, flowery, necklace, pink thing you can find and put it on. And your Hello Kitty socks. They are sitting at the foot of my bed with blackened bottoms and sandy innards. Gotta have those.
Julian, a little less maintenance. Shirt from drawer, over head, arms through. Pants on.
Izzy is like a revolving door when it comes to clothes. Clean on, dirty off, clean on, dirty off, dirty on when I get too tired.
As for me, I throw on the one pair of jeans that somewhat fit and hope they don't have visible puke or jelly on them and whatever shirt is in view in my room. On the bed, floor, closet, doesn't matter. Seeing a burnt toast, mom's last kind of theme festering? Me too.
Okay, we're dressed. For the first time, at least.